Verfluchte Zwillingsschwester Kerfuffle
by thinktink2
Summary: That entwining twin curse could be a real bitch. Taken from Season 4's Octopus Head.
Another thought that had hit me a long time ago and wouldn't leave me alone. Always thought they never did enough with the effects of the Entwining Twin Curse (aka the Verfluchte Zwillingsschwester). Was disappointed we only had that one episode. DVD extras showed another scene that had been cut, referenced here. Not sure if this is how I had originally pictured it turning out when I had this storyline bug bite me, but this is what resulted. Not really Nadalind unless you squint.

Not overtly Nadalind, I guess.

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What the fuck had she done to him?

He breathed in heavily, feeling as though the gasp for air might result in him up-chucking his breakfast and lunch, his head hurt so badly, but he couldn't help the uneven breaths.

Goddamn that hurt. He gripped his head in hands and bent forward, still kneeling on the ground from where the vision, or whatever it was, had gripped him. He almost wondered if vomiting would make him feel better.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, he supposed, this latest…whatever that had over taken him had been when no one else was around. The first time he had been driving and almost killed someone. The second time had been at home, where Juliette and Wu had witnessed it.

At least this last time he had been alone, and he hoped to god that it was the last time. He had seen the same place as the second time. The dungeon, as Juliette had called it. He didn't know what it meant. The rats were still there, too, but he couldn't see anything else beyond that.

He looked up at the ceiling, and became aware of tears that had leaked out of his eyes due to the pain and pressure. Jesus.

Wasn't it enough she had taken his powers away? He could only imagine this was what a brain aneurysm felt like, and then sobered. It wasn't funny, and who the hell knew if that wasn't what she had done.

God, if he ever saw her again he would kill her.

He staggered to his feet, leaning heavily against a wall as he swallowed bile that rose up his throat. Slowly he got one foot in front of the other, and with support from the wall made his way along the parking garage. It was late, going on ten in the evening and it was fairly empty. Hank had left an hour ago and Nick had originally been right behind him, as soon as he finished running down a lead.

His head throbbed painfully, and he still thought he might throw up before the night was over and it was all said and done. He managed to reach his truck, unlocked the doors and then slumped over the steering wheel.

Slow breaths, he told himself. In and out, in and out.

This couldn't continue. He couldn't keep going through this. He didn't know what triggered them, or even if anything did trigger them. He didn't know how to make them stop, or hurt less, or even what the hell he was seeing when he was blind to the reality around him.

His vision flashed and his stomach churned.

"Oh, god," he moaned. It flashed again, and he felt a cold sweat break out as he realized it was happening again.

"Agh," he cried out, and then gripped his head as the pain shot through his skull again. He was back in the dungeon again, he could make out. He didn't see any rats this time, just a plate of overturned food, and he was using that term loosely. Distantly he became aware of loud exhalations of breath, wasn't sure if they were his or someone else's but he didn't think they were his. Pain shot through his skull, splitting it in half, and he moaned and clutched his head, face bumping against the steering wheel. He stayed like that for another minute, nose pressed against the horn, before the pain and the vision finally went away.

He opened the car door and leaned out the side and vomited onto the pavement. He felt another surge in his gut and vomited again, then leaned against the door frame trying to gather his wits.

Actually, no, he did not feel better.

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He called Monroe. Told him there was a problem with his truck and he needed a ride home, then had to think of an excuse as to why he hadn't called Juliette first. She would have known what was up the moment she saw him, would have demanded he go back to the doctor, or tell Rosalee and he was already fairly certain there was nothing anybody could do for him.

Adalind would likely be the only one who could, and fuck if he was going to trust her with a remedy. Not that she was even in the country, or if she had been, willing to help after he helped take her daughter away from her.

As it was, he could tell Monroe thought something was up, but Nick passed it off as just general malaise he felt with no longer being a Grimm, and was able to slip the excuse that things were still weird between he and Juliette as to why he hadn't called her. Monroe had nodded, and Nick had climbed into the passenger seat in relief, and they both apparently decided not to comment on Nick's pale sweaty face, or the pile of vomit beside his truck.

He closed his eyes and lightly dozed on the way home, exhausted, both mentally and emotionally, and it helped to limit the conversation between them. Nick wasn't up for talking, still feeling sick, not to mention not wanting to entertain platitudes about what Adalind had done to him and their ability to do anything about it.

Adalind.

He thought about her all the time, what she done, what he had done with her, going over it in his mind. He was so sick of her. Wished to god he had never met her, or that he had killed her when he had had the chance years ago.

He ever saw her again he would kill her first thing, no questions asked.

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Apparently he couldn't just have his Grimm powers stripped away, or have excruciating headaches, he had to have freaky-ass dreams, too. Not that he hadn't before when he was a Grimm, but he had taken to dreaming of that dungeon room, his mind unwilling to let it go. He would get bits and pieces, snippets or strange things, a piglet in a bassinet, crying faces along a brick wall. He thought whatever she had done might actually be a method of slowly driving a person insane because he was sure he was slowly drifting that way. He hadn't said anything to Juliette about the dreams. She had calmed down considerably when they had discussed that his powers being stripped away might be the opportunity for them to start over and be happy.

Except Nick was miserable, and he wasn't sure he could attribute it all to the lingering effects of the Verfluchte Zwillingsschwester curse that Adalind had cast. It was a huge part, don't get him wrong, but the thought of never being a Grimm again was becoming a bitter pill to swallow.

He had liked being a Grimm, he could admit to himself. Yes it had been difficult, and it was hard on everyone else around him, Juliette especially, but he had been good at it, and a different kind of Grimm, one whose legacy he could be proud of.

One day when he was at the trailer he was afflicted by another excruciating headache and accompanying vision. They had become fewer and far between as the weeks passed, and he had only had two other ones, one while in the shower, and the other at his desk at the precinct, scaring the hell again out of Hank. Fortunately, it had been late, and there were few witnesses to it, and he had taken a blow to the face taking down a suspect a day earlier, so he felt he was able to pass it off fairly well, given the circumstances.

He had been researching some information on their latest case in the trailer, Trubel's whereabouts unknown and he had embraced the peace and quiet and the chance to be alone when it hit him.

"Motherfuck," he gasped, recognizing the twinges of pain before they slammed into him and he transported his awareness from the trailer to someplace new. Not a dungeon this time. What appeared to be a very nice bedroom, decorated in an ornate style, with rich colors and fabrics. He heard the gasping breath again, and was able to place it as having a more feminine quality to it than his own, and he wondered if maybe Trubel had returned and was with him. Although before he had been able to hear things around him while he was seeing things in another place. He didn't hear or feel Trubel beside him, or anyone else, and then promptly gave up the study when another stab of pain sliced through his head.

He opened his eyes and became aware Adalind was staring back with an annoyed and pained expression on her face. His eyes narrowed, then watered from the pain, and he could barely maintain contact long enough to realize she was sitting at a vanity in front of a mirror, hand to her own head, before she ducked down over the surface in obvious pain.

"Goddammit!" he heard her voice echo in his head and squeezed his eyes shut to drown out the sound and the pain. Finally, after a couple of minutes the pain abated, and whatever connection to her he had was severed, but not before he caught one more look at her face, staring at the mirror in confusion. "This has got to stop."

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He dreamt of her. He had fallen asleep on the bed in the trailer, head still throbbing painfully after whatever it was that he had just experienced. He had needed to lay down, try to quell his stomach that was threatening to revolt, and the throbbing was making his vision blur.

He dreamt of her as Juliette, except this time he was aware that it wasn't Juliette. He knew it was Adalind seducing him, critiqued her every gesture in his mind as he dreamt of her. Realized now that the speech wasn't quite Juliette's style, that Juliette hadn't ever been that coquettish. And then continued to dream of everything that had happened from point A to point B, and realized he was dreaming again of them having sex and tried to wake himself up.

Christ, he didn't need to experience this again. Hadn't he suffered enough?

Apparently, no, as when he did finally wake up, it was with a raging hard on and the sensation he might puke, which was an interesting combination, to say the least.

He rolled his head, vision still swimming and then ran his hands over his face, inhaling deeply. It had to stop, he thought. If this kept up he was likely to take his gun to his head and end his misery. Especially if it meant reliving _that_ over and over.

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He had thought about it, and then not thought about it, deliberately avoided ever thinking about it, and then one night deliberately scrutinized every moment of their interaction with his detective's eye, trying to maintain some distance from the emotions that surged and the feeling in his stomach when he thought about what they had done.

It was sex, that was all, he told himself.

 _With a physically attractive woman—it had been Juliette, he reminded himself, as far as he had known—but the one you absolutely wouldn't mind grabbing by the throat and squeezing the life out of her._

Enthusiastic sex, though that initially had been more on his end (afternoon sex not usually on his and Juliette's list of frequent activities. He glanced at Juliette, back to him, sleeping soundly beside him, and thought given what had happened not on the list of activities happening again any time soon).

Although when he looked back on it Adalind had gotten more into it as it went on, aggressive, matching him move for move, which had only served to get him more-

 _Stop!_ He told himself. What the hell did that matter?

It didn't matter that she had enjoyed it or if he had. Of course he had, he thought he was sleeping with Juliette.

Curious though that she might have enjoyed it, given she knew who she was sleeping with. Revolting, actually. Yes, revolting was the appropriate word to use there.

It was best to never think about it again, he decided, which, actually, this one night excluded, had been his game plan ever since the day he had found out the truth. He sobered and glanced at Juliette beside him again.

He had betrayed Juliette, though he had had no idea. The way Juliette had looked at him when she realized what had happened—he would never get that look out of his memory. She had done her best to try and forgive him, excuse him because it hadn't been his fault, not really. Wrap her head around what had happened, but it was there now, between them, festering like an open sore.

Half the reason he kept revisiting the whole thing was because he could tell Juliette had felt he should have sensed something was off or different. He should have known. He couldn't help but think she was right, could see little things now with the benefit of hindsight that he should have recognized, but the whole idea of your worst enemy casting a spell to look like your lover so they could sleep with you and take away your powers seemed so preposterous, why on earth would he think it was anyone but Juliette?

She was focusing her attention on looking forward to resuming their once normal life together, before he had been a Grimm, but Nick had a hard time remembering what it had been like. He was having a hard time period, and she had suggested that they might consider moving out of Portland altogether and start their life fresh. Maybe California or Seattle, or someplace farther away, but he was having serious doubts as to whether a change in zip code would do anything to help him.

They had wanted to start a family. He had wanted to marry her; had been on the verge of asking her again. It would have been the third time he attempted it, and what a charm. Seriously doubted now whether it might ever happen. Maybe, yes, if they moved, away from Renard, and Adalind's various curses, Monroe and Rosalee and Bud and all the Wesen he had befriended. If he got on at another police force where no one had any idea what he was. Or had been, anyway.

But that meant leaving his friends, and the only place since he had been twelve where he stayed in one place for any length of time and had set down some roots. He had a good life here in Portland with them up until a few weeks ago.

Juliette shifted in her sleep, rolling over so that she was now curled up on her side facing him. He looked at her, thought of Adalind again as her, and rolled over on his side, back to her, and tried to fall asleep.

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"Fuck, not again," he whimpered, gripping the sink in the bathroom tightly. He felt blood trickle down his neck. He had been shaving when a shotgun blast went off in his head. He laid his head on the cool porcelain, practicing his make-shift Lamaze—he would be an awesome coach if he and Juliette ever did have a baby—and prayed to god that it wouldn't be as bad as any of the times before. Juliette was downstairs in the kitchen fixing coffee and some toast for him. It had been weeks now since his last one, and he had rather hoped he had seen the last of them and the strange visions. He felt a modicum of relief as the pain let up, glanced up in the mirror in surprise, and started to stand up again when the second wave hit him. Hard.

"Aggh!" he yelped, and bent over the sink again. For one brief second he saw the mirror before him and then it was gone and he was back in the bedroom at the other place. It was dark in the room, and he became aware of a bed, and blankets being pulled back, or pushed back.

"Aghh!" A voice, Adalind's voice, responded. "Nick? What the hell," he heard her mutter before he lost his grip on the sink and fell to the floor.

 _Adalind._ _I'm seeing what she's seeing._ Jesus Christ what had she done to him?

"Adalind," Nick moaned, and clutched his head with both hands when the pain intensified. It felt like a blood vessel was going to burst. Maybe it had. Surely this had to be some painful way she had chosen for him to die, except he heard her shriek and yelp with pain, too.

"What the hell did you do?" he managed to choke out when he felt familiar hands grip him. He looked up.

"Nick? Nick!"

"Juliette?"

But it had been Adalind's voice he heard say that, not his.

"Nick! Nick!"

"Juliette," he whispered hoarsely and she sighed in relief. He could see a light come on in the ornate bedroom, illuminating a portion of the space. He saw an embroidered satin duvet cover, and a robe thrown over the end of the bed.

"Oh my god, this has got to stop. It's really starting to be irritating," he heard Adalind say and would have rolled his eyes if he thought they wouldn't burst from their sockets.

"What the hell did you do to me?" he whispered, feeling another wave grip him. It seemed like it got worse the more they connected in…whatever this was. Dream. Vision. Other. He would have stopped it five minutes ago if he had any idea what triggered it, or even how exactly they were deepening it.

"What they hell did I do to _me_?" she retorted.

"Nick, are you okay? Nick?"

 _No he was not fucking okay,_ he wanted to scream.

"No, _I'm_ not fucking okay, so I doubt he is," he heard Adalind mutter. He didn't know why he could hear her so clearly. Why they were on the same wavelength so to speak. How he could even be connected to her in such a way when she was literally half a world away in Austria.

"The curse," he moaned. "Jesus, make it stop," he said, and he dimly registered Juliette's frantic concern.

"If I could make it stop don't you think I would have," Adalind snapped. "This is keeping me up at night. And oh my god, will you tell Juliette to shut up? I can barely hear myself think."

God what he wouldn't give for his gun right now.

"Juliette, please," he whispered, but he didn't know what he was pleading with her for, and if it was for her to shut up, it was because he needed her to, not Adalind.

"Nick?" she said worriedly. "Stay there," she directed, and Nick felt her hands release him. "I'm calling an ambulance."

"What's that going to do?" Adalind snorted, and Nick moaned loudly, and Adalind did, too, as another wave of pain hit them both. A second later the connection between them broke and the pain abruptly abated.

Nick pulled his hands away from his head, realized he was on his knees, bent over the floor. He slumped back, gasping for breath, and then scrambled for the commode when a surge of bile rose in his gut. He vomited violently into the toilet bowl, head throbbing painfully with aftershocks, making his vision go white at times. He felt a cool, wet, washcloth press against his head, and then another pressed against the back of his neck.

"Juliette," he breathed. "I'm…I'm okay," he said, and then vomited again to prove his point.

"No you're not. Nick, I think you need to go back to the doctor, or…or consult with Rosalee," Juliette said. "I thought these had stopped and now you suddenly have another one. It seems like it was worse than the one before."

Right. She wasn't aware of the other times. No one was, but Hank, and he thought there were only the two he had witnessed and the one Juliette had. So far as anyone knew, he had only had three at most, and to their knowledge the last one had been a long time ago.

"I'm okay," he repeated, opening his eyes. The light in the bathroom hurt, and he squinted up at her. She wore a frown and a concerned expression.

"You're bleeding," she said, fingers going to his neck. He stared back at her blankly for a few seconds.

"I was shaving," he recalled, "when it hit me."

She pressed the washcloth to the cut.

"I'm really worried about you. What if she did something more than just take away your powers?"

 _Just take away my powers?_ She had done plenty right there, but he could understand Juliette's comment. He had wondered if whatever this was had been some sort of slow descent into hell, or a particularly drawn out and painful method of killing him. Given what he had just…well…seen, he guessed, he was now thinking that wasn't the case.

Obviously, Adalind hadn't predicted this either. Which made him doubly worried as she was the fucking witch who had cast this lovely spell on him, and she had no fucking clue as to the range and scope of the side effects?

Well, at least every time that they were bringing him to his knees and wishing for a swift end to his misery they were doing the same to her. Some consolation, however small. He only hoped it made a blood vessel burst in her brain, but that would be too much to wish for.

"Nick?" and Nick brought his attention back to Juliette. "Can you stand?" she asked him and he nodded, though he really just felt like lying down on the cool bathroom tile and sleeping for a few hours. She helped him get to his feet, the process cumbersome given how much he was leaning on her, and he tried to adjust his posture to reduce some of the pressure against her. He leaned against the sink, and removed his arm from her.

"I got it," he said, and she reluctantly released him.

"I think maybe you should call in today and rest," and he shook his head, and almost passed out. His vision blacked, and he blinked rapidly trying to clear it.

"Nick?"

"No," he managed, and she huffed a sigh.

"What are you going to do if one of these hits while you're on the job? Chasing a suspect?" she asked him, voice sharp. "Driving in your car?"

One already had, but she didn't know that. Just Hank.

"I'll be fine," he said stubbornly, and hoped to god one didn't, because he had technically had two hit while he was working and if Juliette knew that she would have his ass. Not to mention Hank, if he knew Nick had had more since. He had barely convinced him not to say anything to Rosalee or Renard.

He was aware he was playing a dangerous game. It really was quite concerning how debilitating they were when they hit. He was putting Hank at risk every time he went out with him, not knowing what triggered them and what could stop them. He sobered at the thought.

But they had been occurring more and more infrequently. Just, apparently now when they did whatever the weird connection between him and Adalind was stronger, the pain more intense.

"I'll be fine," he said again and flashed a smile at Juliette. She gave him a disbelieving look, and huffed another sigh and stood angrily.

"I don't know what they hell she did, but if I ever find her," Juliette began threateningly.

"You and me both," Nick muttered.

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Goddammit, he dreamt of her again.

What the fuck?

She looked like her, not Juliette. Her hair was done in wavy blonde curls, hanging loose over her shoulders, and she was dressed in that purple negligee of Juliette's she had worn when she had seduced him. She looked soft and inviting, and she smiled at him in the dream, making his blood hum. He ran his fingers through the long blonde hair, silky and feather light to his touch. She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him as she had done that day and he admitted it had been a nice, rather enjoyable, decent kiss, all things considering, knowing who he was kissing now.

Except why was he dreaming of _her_ , as her, when he knew it was her now?

Clearly he was confused. He didn't know who to associate the feelings about that day with. Juliette? Adalind?

Especially now when he looked back on it, and dammit, he kept looking back on it. Scrutinizing it more and more, in ever finer detail, feeling guilty as hell for doing so with Juliette asleep beside him. He shifted away from her, things still slightly strained between them, more so since he had told Monroe he missed having his powers, feeling like the admission was another aspect of guilt between them. Like he was having to apologize for who he was and liking it.

He closed his eyes and remembered the breathy gasps and encouragement from that day. His gut twisted and lips frowned sourly. She was certainly a gifted actress. Hell, who knows, maybe she did enjoy it.

Probably, knowing she was psychologically and supernaturally screwing him as she was literally screwing him.

Probably thought _what an idiot_ , excited and happy to be having an afternoon romp and wouldn't the joke be on him in a few hours or days, or however long she anticipated it would take him to figure it out. He'd look back on it and think how much he had enjoyed it and be sick to his stomach knowing that it had been with _her._

He was sick to his stomach, because it had been with her, and he _had_ enjoyed it. It had been fun, and he choked down the bile rising up his throat. _I think under different circumstances you and I could have really had some fun_. He remembered her telling him that. Wondered sarcastically if that was what she had had in mind, then realized, yes, it probably was.

He flushed slightly with shame that he kept reliving it; couldn't put it behind him or bury it. It somehow kept getting unearthed no matter how much dirt he threw over it. Wished for the thousandth time that he had killed her when he had had the chance.

Sighing, he slid out of bed and went downstairs.

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There was absolutely nothing on late night television worth watching.

If the trailer were still here he'd be out in it, reading or researching or maybe just sleeping there instead of next to the innocent party in this whole mess, who definitely didn't want, or need, to hear that her boyfriend of five years kept dreaming about the incident and the woman he unknowingly cheated on her with. He had thought about getting his keys and driving out to it, but it was the middle of the night and he didn't want to leave Juliette alone or alarm her with any strange behavior from him. She was still observing him carefully, when she thought he wasn't paying attention, looking for any more signs or worsening symptoms from the curse.

Verfluchte Zwillingsschwester. The entwining twin curse. He supposed it explained the twisted connection he and Adalind now had, apparently. Able to see through one another's eyes. The goddamn headaches that made him want to sever his own head from his neck if it meant he would find some relief. Maybe even why he thought of her so much now.

That was as good an excuse as any.

He stared blankly at an infomercial on knives, thought how a particularly wicked looking chef's knife would look great sticking out of Adalind's chest.

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He was going to be sick. He hoped it didn't show on his face.

He could get his powers back. It was within his reach. A simple step to take and he could be a Grimm again.

Except it was that next step making him nauseous.

Sleep with Juliette, normally not a bile-inducing process.

Who would look and sound exactly like Adalind.

As if his mind wasn't revolted and confused enough from the last time. Now he would actually have Adalind, looking like Adalind, except this time it was Juliette, and he would know it was Juliette.

Juliette. Juliette. Juliette.

Who crazily enough went along with this insane plan.

And she looked exactly like Adalind. Blond, silky waves, petite frame, blue eyes. Telling him to just pretend and take it as his opportunity to have an affair with another woman.

His mortal enemy, at this point. Did she have any idea what she was saying? As if it were just that easy. God, why couldn't it be anyone else.

What do you even do in the situation?

Enjoy it? It was Juliette. Juliette. Juliette. Juliette.

It was okay if he enjoyed it right? Expected? It was his girlfriend and the love of his life after all. Not the witch who had made it miserable.

Probably not good to enjoy it too much, though. Not that he was probably going to anyway. His mind was racing so much they might be lucky if he could get it off the ground, so to speak.

Just best to...to...power through it. Point A to Point B. Don't really need any additional frills. Except Juliette wasn't just letting him do that. He'd happily just squeeze his eyes shut and think of everything under the sun that turned him on to just hurry up and get the whole thing over with as soon as possible.

Probably in the long run, she was right. This whole debacle had already affected their relationship, and they didn't need one more crazy thing between them, especially a night of nauseating and extremely awkward sex. And not that Juliette wasn't a person, albeit a person currently wearing a certain Hexenbiest's face. She deserved more than being used as a means to an end, an emotionless fuck. It was still them, after all, despite her appearance.

He had never before treated her as anything other than special and beholden to him. Why let this cheapen it now?

Still, it was hard to love her like Juliette when she looked like Adalind. And then remembering what Adalind had been like looking as Juliette when he had loved her.

His head hurt, it was so confusing.

He wasn't even sure what he should do with his hands, where he should put them. He normally fondled and teased Juliette's breasts during their foreplay, but Adalind's were quite a bit bigger, and he found himself enjoying their fullness and roundness, the way they fit perfectly in his hands, and felt abruptly guilty and moved his hands elsewhere, finally settling on Juliette's hips, and then his mind conjured up a mental comparison of that area between the two.

Was almost grateful when Juliette climbed on top of him, taking control, except he had a great view of said full, round, and now heaving, breasts, and of Adalind—Juliette-enjoying herself over him, and another memory of the time before when it had been the opposite, and Adalind had taken the opportunity to _really_ enjoy it. Except she had looked like Juliette, but now he knew it was Adalind.

He felt desire shoot down his gut, and wondered who the hell it was for? Juliette or Adalind? His hands went to her breasts almost of their own volition, and Adalind—Juliette—Jesus, he thought—moaned in encouragement.

He needed to remind himself who he was with, who he had made love to for years, and abruptly changed their position, rolling Juliette underneath him. Juliette as Adalind smiled, but it hadn't been the same slight gasp of surprise that Adalind had emitted when he had done something similar before when he had thought she was Juliette.

He needed to do some things to Juliette that were just strictly them. She was ticklish behind her knees, and he ran his fingers down her legs, and slid around behind the bend of her knee and felt her squirm underneath him. She was utterly turned on when you touched her ears, and he gently nipped a lobe and was rewarded with some new vigor.

She apparently was a little turned on by her new bust size, too, or maybe his reaction to it, he didn't know, but she kept touching her—Adalind's—( _Christ)—_ breasts as they both got more into it.

He kept at it, little things he had taken for granted in all the years he spent making love to her, and by the time they were finished most of the awkwardness had faded and he felt better about their situation. He flopped back down on his side of the bed, breathing hard.

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Juliette had been distant lately. He wondered if that night had done more harm than even he had imagined it would. That she had been affected by it more than she had anticipated. They didn't talk about it, not since that night when she had tried to feel him out a little afterwards and he had wisely chosen not to entertain that idea. She had taken the return to their normal Grimm life in stride. Helping as she had done ever since she had found out the truth with cases and Wesen issues. Perhaps they would get through it okay, if they gave it enough time. They hadn't been intimate but one other time since that night and Nick had been so relieved to have the person inside actually match the body underneath that he wouldn't have noticed any awkwardness or hesitation anyway.

That, too, was going on weeks ago now. Monroe and Rosalee were on their honeymoon, while Nick was grappling with a nagging feeling that something was off between him and Juliette.

He was back, in all his Grimm glory. It had been weeks now since they had recreated the spell that regifted Nick with his Grimm powers again. Going on months since his last skull-shattering headache or vision. Whatever connection Adalind's spell had made with him had apparently been broken or severed by Elizabeth's version.

He still dreamt of her sometimes, though.

Juliette as Adalind had finally solidified a vision of Adalind as Adalind in his mind, and sometimes he dreamt of her that way, and what she had done to him; with him. Sometimes he dreamt of her as some mixture of the two instances, the parts interchanging, still confusing.

Thankfully the dreams were rare, and the disturbing sensation he felt as he dreamt of her as her, rarer.

He'd only allowed himself a couple of times to imagine it all the way to the end.

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The End

Thoughts?


End file.
